How It Must Be
by MrsJoyceChilvers
Summary: "So, tomorrow we say goodbye" - the farewell between Violet Crawley and Prince Igor Kuragin.


Violet Crawley was not used to sleepless nights, indeed she'd always prided herself on the regularity of her sleeping pattern, and the still remarkable precision of her internal clock. It was therefore with some amount of discomfort that she'd spent the greater part of the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. In truth the restlessness should not have come as surprise, indeed, being honest with herself, she'd been deluded to think sleep would come with any ease, especially after the evening before, and the incumbent of the guest room four doors down the hallway.

"I don't understand you" - his words still swirled in her head, seemingly unwilling to settle anywhere long enough to give her mind some temporary relief and rest. The painful truth was that he did understand her, better than anyone ever had, even now. When she'd politely declined his proposition with the words that this was "how it must be", she'd known in her heart that it was a lie, or at the very best a coward's way out. She hated herself for it, for if Violet had considered herself to have any virtue in this life, it had been bravery and her ability to be resolute in her stance, no matter what anyone else thought of her. Last evening she been anything but - she'd wavered, and ultimately for the second time in her life, she'd chosen not to fight for what she wanted. Where this any other morning and set of circumstances, the irony of it all might have amused her, for she knew she had something of a reputation for being selfish, or at the very least, always getting her own way. Would anyone believe her if she said she'd given up perhaps the one thing she'd wanted most of all in this life? It pained her to think that most would not.

The sound of Denker's voice brought her out of her reverie, although her mind still lay elsewhere long enough for her to missed her maid's first words - something to do with the Princess. In the end, rather than ask Denker to repeat herself, Violet simply nodded - and as her lady's maid disappeared up the stairs, she could only conclude that she was helping the Princess get ready.

The Princess - Irina - even now, fifty years on, the woman had the ability to strike a fear in Violet, something she was not used to. The evening before, when Irina had first entered the room, Violet had suddenly felt herself transported back to that fateful night and the carriage in St Petersburg. Irina had been everything Violet aspired to be back then - proud, powerful, and most intriguing of all, strident and wholly herself in her views. As the young and relatively new Countess of Grantham, Violet had still been in the process of finding her feet in her new position - the spectre of her mother-in-law still towering over everything she said and did at Downton. Irina had bristled with an air of superiority and confidence, and Violet couldn't help but be intrigued by the woman - this despite her affair with her husband. That Irina had in the end so brutally, and literally, pulled her away from Igor and back to reality, came as no shock. She had always dreaded Lord Grantham finding out about her affair, but it had been Irina that she'd truly feared. Irina was dangerous - a lethal mix of power with a purpose, and despite her former rival's now impoverished state, she'd seen glimpses of that still evident in woman who'd come down stairs in her dress the evening before.

Standing in front of her reception room door, Violet couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the idea of opening it - different from the sort she associated with Irina. No, this was the dread one associated with the fear of being caught in a lie - which was exactly what she'd done. The door was all that stood between her and him - Igor. She knew he'd been polite the previous evening, that he'd done his best to avoid a scene whilst Isobel and Dickie Merton were still present, but she also knew he would likely offer her no such luxury in the cold light of day - the fact that he'd arrived nearly 45 minutes early all but ensured it. Slowly turning the door knob, she tentatively stepped in - the feeling akin to what she'd once felt as an ten year old when she'd broken a bottle of scent belonging to her mother. He stood by the window, his back to her - his figure as imposing and striking as the first time she'd seen him - and much to her heart's ache, in the exact same position he'd been in when he'd asked her to be his lover again. He said nothing, nor turned his head to acknowledge her presence. The silence was agony - seeming to stretch out for an age, and making her acutely aware of the thump of her own heart beat in her chest. She needed for this to be over - for him to go and to take Irina with him, because she no longer knew how long she could keep up the guise of nobility. Selfish Violet Crawley - always getting what she wanted - she was no longer sure if she could keep that woman at bay, or indeed if she wanted to.

Unable to endure the silence anymore, she spoke - her voice sounding artificial even to her own ears as she explained about Irina being not quite ready and Denker helping her. And yet still he did not react - his gaze firmly directed out the window. For a moment she half wondered if there was actually something of interest out in her garden - and then suddenly he turned. The sight of him made her breath catch in her throat and a shiver run the length of her body. His eyes bore into her - and although his expression was unreadable, she felt her body tremble and her bottom lip quiver. His stare never wavered as he slowly and deliberately approached her - one foot in front of the other - methodically closing the gap between them. For a moment she felt like a stalked animal, one unable to move as the hunter approached - and she swallowed and averted her eyes downwards, hoping against hope that somehow it would break the tension. It did not. His physical presence loomed over her - his proximity seeming to absorb whatever air there was around, and then she felt his hands on her face - gently but forcefully making her look back at him - but still she would not meet his eyes. She knew that if she did, she'd be lost, and so in desperation she mumbled about his wife being upstairs - hoping to remind him - trying to appeal to him to spare her whatever was about to come.

This time he spoke - his voice low - with a timbre to it that she'd always found so dangerous and attractive. "I don't care" was all he said, and then suddenly his lips were on hers - passionate and forceful - brutal almost as he claimed her. Her mind reeled at the sensation - her senses assaulted as memories came flooding back, and feelings and desires sparked anew within her. She knew she should stop him, and for a brief moment she tried not to react, but it was a losing battle and eventually she found herself parting her lips for him - instinct taking over as she unsteadily slipped her arms around him and gave herself over to the kiss - letting him deepen it, letting him explore her as he had done the first time he'd ever kissed her. She wanted him - wanted to be with him. She had had other lovers over the years, but none had made her feel as he did, as he still could now - her body pulsing with a sexual need she didn't know she could still feel.

When they broke and he spoke again, his voice was full of emotion, and none of the anger she'd half expected moments earlier when she'd entered the room. "Come away with me", he pleaded - his forehead resting against hers as he gently caressed her hair with his hands. She had steeled herself for his indignation at her reasoning the night before, but not for this - not for such a naked show of emotion from him. She knew him to be a deeply passionate man but in all their time together, she'd never seen him come close to weeping until now. His eyes brimming with tears as he held her close - his hands caressing along her cheeks and hair, over and over.

"Please, Violet"

She felt her already shaky resolve weaken further at his use of her name. She wanted to go with him, to throw caution and reputation to the wind, but despite it all, despite her body still yearning for him, something inside her would not let her go. She'd grown to be thankful for Irina's intervention that night in St Petersburg, and although haunted by "what ifs", she'd made the best of her situation to become a great and powerful lady - indeed she had thrived beyond her wildest expectations. The irony that she'd modeled so much of her public self on the woman she despised for ending the love affair of her life was never lost on her. Now as she looked at Igor again, her own eyes filling with tears, she realised that although she wanted nothing more than to take his hand and tell Irina to go to hell, the painful truth was that she couldn't - it turned out her reasoning hadn't been a lie at all. She had hated Irina for what she'd done that night, and in many ways still did - but she could not and would not humiliate her like that - and so, with her heart breaking, and with a pain she never thought possible, she shook her head and whispered "No".

He continued to plead with her; his voice full of passion and earnest devotion as he vowed to look after her, to keep her safe, to love her. Every word from his lips making her heart break more, until finally the sob that she'd been fighting since the night before broke through and she cried for him to stop. And he did. His arms suddenly tight around her, holding her to him as she let herself openly weep. She never cried, she'd been raised to keep her emotions in check, but Igor Kuragin had smashed through all that fifty years earlier with the force of a hurricane, and apparently still could.

She allowed herself to cling to him - to revel in the feeling of being held by him once more, to be held by him one last time. She sensed that he was doing the same - that her tears had made him accept her decision - and slowly their bodies relaxed against each other - their embrace melting away from one of comfort to one of affection, and of two people committing the feel of each other to memory. She couldn't help but smile through her tears as she felt him rub her back in a warming gesture - something he used to do when they'd first been lovers and the Russian cold had affected her so. She loved him, she was certain of it - but Irina had pulled her back to reality that night in Russia, and regardless of what Igor said and his determination, the truth was so long as he had a wife (and she would never divorce him), his hopes for their life together were but a dream. There would be scandal, and whilst she had no qualms about facing such, she had a family to think of, and great grandchildren now. Violet Crawley it seemed wasn't always selfish, and despite her reputation, did not always get her way - even when she wanted something so badly it hurt.

Finally she lifted her head to look at him, reaching up with her hand to gently caress his cheek and run her fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry", she whispered - and truly she was. In reply he simply kissed her forehead.

"I'm not saying I understand, but I won't see you cry anymore".

She looked at him again, her eyes welling up once more. She drank in the sight of him; committing him to memory - she wouldn't bury him away like she had the last time. And then slowly she leaned forward, her lips trembling as she brought them to his. It had been decades since she'd initiated a kiss - and she'd felt oddly nervous in the moment, but as Igor gently took over she relaxed once more and let the sensations envelop her. This kiss had none of the burning pent up passion of their first kiss - instead it was something more gentle and sweet - a kiss of lovers saying goodbye - of them memorizing every detail and sensation of each other. When they broke apart this time they knew they'd never kiss again - and so they stood there, hand in hand, composing themselves and waiting for the fateful moment Irina was announced.

She'd watched them go; standing in the very spot in which he'd asked her to become his lover again. She was still standing in the spot when Isobel arrived a hour later.

"Have the Kuragins left?"

"Yes" was all Violet replied. It was how it must be.


End file.
